Soon All Ded
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Summary Someone is killing UNCLE agents and it's up to Napoleon and Illya to find out who before Napoleon is next. Written for the 2016 Halloween Challenge in Scrapbook


The shrill _beep beep_ of a communicator could wake Napoleon Solo faster than any other sound known to man.

He pushed the sheets back and frowned at the morning, wishing it would just go away and let him sleep. The lump buried in the bed clothes beside him stirred, but did no more than that. And still the communicator sang.

Napoleon moaned. They'd just gotten in from assignment in New Guinea. They'd gone straight to headquarters to make their reports and follow up on a couple loose ends. That accomplished, they'd headed here with some take-out food and the plans for a quiet day off.

Knowing there would be no peace until he answered, Napoleon flung out a hand and groped for the instrument. Finding it, he uncapped it even while yawning hugely.

"Solo here."

The voice of their superior, Alexander Waverly filled the room, "Ah, Mr. Solo. I was attempting to rouse Mr. Kuryakin."

 _Fat chance of that,_ Napoleon thought, eyeing the lump. "We appear to have mixed up communicators last night and I ended up with his." In his heart of hearts, Napoleon knew that Waverly suspected their relationship, perhaps even welcomed it. Even while Napoleon still put up as front of the man about town, most nights now end just as last night's did, with them having dinner and going to bed, if not to sleep.

"That being as it is, this matter also involves you. Last night Agent Ezekiel Caulfield was found dead."

"Caulfield, sir? I wasn't aware that Zek was on assignment," Napoleon said, as the blankets were tossed back and Illya eyed him wordlessly. He shook his head and mouthed, _He wasn't_.

"He wasn't, Mr. Solo. He and his partner were on vacation. When he failed to return to their hotel, Agent Beasley reported him missing. Agent Beasley and the local team found him later and radioed in."

Illya shrugged his shoulders and Napoleon nodded. "I am… ah… assuming there is more to this story than what it appears."

"Yes, Mr. Solo, there is. His death was very un-THRUSH like. He was mutilated. I would like you and your partner to report to my office as soon as possible. And, Napoleon, be careful, both of you."

Napoleon couldn't tell which was more shocking, the thought of an agent being killed like that or Waverly calling him by his first name. He shut off the communicator and continued to stare at it.

"What was that all about?" Illya sat up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. "I wonder what he meant by, mutilated and unlike THRUSH. I put very little by them."

"I can only think of a handful of times that Mr. Waverly addressed me as Napoleon." He stretched. "You want first crack at the shower? I'm going to start some coffee."

"Sure."

Napoleon got out of the tangle of sheets and pulled on his robe, knotting it around his waist. Walking to the kitchen, he filled the percolator with water. He dumped some coffee into the basket and set it on the stove. He was about to turn the burner on when Illya called.

"Napoleon!"

"Yes, Illya?"

"I need you – right now!" There was an edge to Illya's voice that made Napoleon frown and he hurried to the bathroom. Illya was standing and staring into the shower. He'd pulled the shower curtain back and written on the wall, apparently in blood, was:

 _No 1 Soon all ded._

Mr. Waverly studied the wall and then quietly moved into the living room. Napoleon watched him from his position in his favorite chair. Illya sat, unmoving, from his position on Napoleon's couch. The coffee in his cup had grown tepid, yet he didn't seem to notice. Spread before him were a dozen black and white photos.

"Poor Zek," Napoleon murmured, lifting the closest photo. It showed the lower limbs of a body perturbing out from beneath a pile of hay. "Who could do something like this to him? And how? He was a seasoned Section Three agent."

"All it takes is one moment of inattention," Illya said. "I'm more concerned how someone got in here and wrote that message in your bathroom."

"And, more disturbing, when?" Waverly set down his coffee cup. "You discovered this only this morning, Mr. Solo?"

"Ah… yes, I went straight to bed last night." At least that wasn't a lie. They had gone straight to bed, but sleep didn't find them for another few hours. They'd both used the bathroom, but not to shower. The plan had been to make a long morning of it since they had the day off. "I didn't see it until after you called me."

"And, you, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"How could someone just toss him aside like that as if he was nothing more than garbage?"

"I was rather referring to your thoughts upon Mr. Solo's bathroom."

"And no crack about the color," Napoleon muttered into his coffee cup. It was a long-standing joke with them.

"Needless to say, I am concerned about the security breach. Who could get into here and why leave that message?"

"We are collecting the security data from Mr. Solo's alarm, but that will take some time."

"Where were Agents Caulfield and Beasley vacationing?" Napoleon asked, glancing at the techs as they worked in his bathroom. He felt violated by their presence and by the message."

"In a small village in Vermont. The hotel was properly vetted and there has been no THRUSH activity reported in the area. The guests were given a routine security check and they all came back clean. Immediately, we set research to work to make sure there were no other groups in the area that might see the death of an UNCLE agent as a feather in one's cap, as it were."

"And nothing?"

"No, Mr. Kuryakin and that is the problem. It appears to be a random killing." Waverly shook his head slowly.

"I have found that there is rarely anything random in our line of work."

"Exactly, Mr. Solo. They had only left two days ago and weren't due back for a week."

"That seems too efficient to be anything but an organized attack. Have you spoken with Beasley?" Napoleon gathered up the photos. He didn't need to see what was left of Zek any longer. Once through the black and white photos was enough. "Did he see anything or have any sort of hint that something was going on?"

"Only by communicator. He was very upset by what happened to his partner." Waverly checked his watch. "He should be returning by this afternoon."

"I'll want to talk with him." Illya pulled off his glasses and returned them to his pocket.

"He'll be available. We will, of course, initiate the routine procedures in such a case."

Napoleon nodded. There would be a round of visits with UNCLE's doctors to ascertain Beasley's mental condition before he would be permitted to go back out into the field. If he was deemed suitable, he would be re-partnered. If not, he would be mandated to courier and other tasks. It all seemed so easy and straight forward in the UNCLE manual. To lose your partner to THRUSH is one thing. To lose him like this was something very different.

He glanced over at Illya and wondered if the same thoughts were running through his head. _How would I be able to carry on with you gone? Would you be able to continue without me?_

"I'll talk with Cap when he gets in this afternoon. Illya, do you want to run with the message?"

"Nothing would make me happier.

Caplin 'Cap' Beasley paced the length of the conference room and back. "I just don't get it, Napoleon. Who would want to harm Zek?"

"That's what I'm hoping you'll tell me, Cap." Napoleon sat at the conference table, watching the man. There was something wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The man seemed agitated, but he couldn't decide if it was grief or something else. "Did you notice anything unusual?"

"No. The place was pastoral. Quiet, restful, just what both of us needed. We'd been under a lot of strain as of late."

"Yes, I read the reports. You actually got into a fist fight with each other?"

"Zek… well, you'll find this out. He'd been drinking a lot lately. I thought he'd had enough and he didn't. I thought maybe if we could just get away from the city for a while and go someplace quiet, we could talk things out and figure out a plan."

That made sense to Napoleon. He would have done the same thing. "And?"

"We didn't have time, did we?" Beasley snapped over his shoulder, then he paled and sank into a chair. "God, I'm sorry, Napoleon. I'm just…"

"It's okay, Cap. I more than anyone know what it's like to lose a partner. I've lost three of them. I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn't."

"Especially when you've formed that sort of a bond. It's almost love, but, if anything, stronger." He dropped his head to the table top, resting it on his forearms. "We'd just had dinner and he said he wanted to take a walk. I should have gone with him." He looked up. "Why didn't I go with him? I could have saved him."

"Or you could both be dead."

"Like that's such a bad thing?" Cap's head dropped again. "What do you supposed that message meant?"

Napoleon's radar perked up. "What message, Cap."

"Soon all d-e-d. It was scrawled on the wall. What am I going to do without him, Napoleon? He was the one. The perfect partner." Illya picked that moment to enter and Cap sat up. "But why would you worry. Yours is right there. Can I go?"

"Of course. Um, Cap—"

"I know the drill. I read the same book you did, Napoleon." Beasley got to his feet and brushed past Illya as if he didn't even see him.

Illya's eyebrows arched, but he remained silent until the door slid shut. "Do I offend?"

"He's angry that he's hurting so much." Napoleon closed the open folder before him. "Did you find anything?"

"About the content of the message itself, no. It was written in finger paint, so that it washed off easily, almost too easily."

"Do you still have the photos of Zak?"

Illya set a stack of manila folders down and shuffled through them. "Here you go. Something wrong?"

"Something… Cap mentioned there was a message left, a very familiar message. Soon all d-e-d."

"That's odd." Illya pulled the photos out and flipped through them. "Granted most of these are of the body, I would think that if such a message had been left, someone would have reported it."

"That's what I think, too." Napoleon pursed his lips. "I think a more thorough investigation into Caplan Beasley is in order."

Illya push a personnel folder towards him. "I thought you would never ask. And these are the logs from your apartment. The only person to have gone in and out of your apartment has been your cleaning lady. You don't suppose—"

"Mrs. Carmichael? She's been with me for fifteen years. In fact, I think she came with the place." Napoleon paused to laugh at his own joke. "Besides she's been fully vetted by security."

"I wasn't suggest she's the culprit, Napoleon, only that she might have seen or heard something."

"You're right, of course. Sorry, all of this has made me a little uneasy." He leaned closer to Illya. "I mean, if someone has the code to my place, they could come in at any time… like last night."

"Except you had that silly chain thing on your door latched. That's wasn't tampered with. It wasn't last night."

"I'm not saying it was. Just…" Napoleon trailed off and Illya nodded, understanding the unspoken end of the sentence.

"I know. You feel violated."

"Just a little."

"Well get to the bottoms of both, Napoleon. Never fear."

Mrs. Carmichael adjusted her housedress yet again. "I must say I feel just a trifle awkward here."

"It's just a precaution, ma'am." Illya put on his glasses and scanned her file, even though he already knew it by heart. "Now you've worked for Mr. Solo for—"

"Why, almost twenty years. I'd been working for his aunt. Such a sweet and generous woman and funny as the day is long. She would tell me the most delightful tales, like once, she met a maharajah and he wanted to make her his—"

"Pardon me for interrupting, Mrs. Carmichael, but I don't want to keep you longer than I have to. You must have other clients to take care of."

"Well, not today. Today is Mr. Solo's day. He's neat as a pin, you know… well, maybe not quite as much as of late. I don't know what has gotten into the boy."

Illya smiled at her reference to Napoleon as a boy. "It's our lifestyle. We have to go when called."

"Of course. I understand."

"So the last time you would have been in Mr. Solo's apartment would have been last Wednesday."

"Yes."

"But the logs show that you were there just three days ago."

"I knew he'd been away. Often I will pop in and bring him some fresh produce and dairy."

"When you were there, did you notice anything odd or out of the ordinary?"

"Well, that nice young man stopped by. He said he had to leave a file before he went out of town on vacation."

"Do you remember his name?"

"Hat something."

"Do you mean Cap?'

"Yes, that's it. While he was there, he asked to use Mr. Solo's restroom. I worked in the kitchen until he was finished and I tidied it up afterwards, just to make sure he left it as he found it."

"Did you happen to check the shower?"

"Why on Earth would I do that? He was in there for quite a bit of time, but he said he had a touch of," her voice lowered. "Constipation. You young men need to eat better. My Herbert was as right as rain."

"I think that's all, ma'am. Thank you so much for your time. My secretary will show you out."

"I'm glad to be of service. Mr. Kuryakin, who cleans your apartment?"

"No one. I tend to it myself." Illya took off his glasses and set them on the table in front of him.

"That must be quite a task."

"I'm naturally neat."

"You must have made your mother a happy woman."

"I did."

"Well, yes, I did stop by your place, Napoleon. You told me you wanted that McQurk file ASAP. I figured you'd stop by your place before HQ, so I left it there."

"There wasn't any file, Cap."

"And you used the bathroom. Mrs. Carmichael said you were quite a long time."

"That old snoop. She stood at the door all the time I was in there, talking about 'My Herbert this' and 'My Herbert that' like I cared."

Napoleon pushed a file around. "Look familiar?"

"The words, yes. The location… well, the only place I've ever seen black tile has been in your bath…" Beasley stopped. "Wait, what the hell are you accusing me of, Solo?" Illya appeared at the door with two burly Section Three agents at that moment and Beasley looked like a trapped animal. "You can't be serious!"

"You knew what was written there." Illya's face was hard and unflinching.

"What? I knew what was written on Zek."

Both Napoleon and Illya looked stunned. "What do you mean?"

"It was carved on his stomach." Beasley started to choked. "Bastards carved him up like a friggin' turkey." He slammed his fist down into the table top hard enough to make the cups bounce.

Napoleon looked at Illya, who nodded and left. "Why don't you escort Mr. Beasley down to our guest quarters and keep him company."

"You're arresting me?"

"No, I'm safeguarding you. If you are telling the truth, then someone else is lying and I'm not sure who that is yet."

"Are you so sure letting Cap go was a good idea?" Illya turned back to the sink and spit out his mouthful of toothpaste.

Napoleon looked up from the book he was reading. "He's under surveillance, so he can't sneeze without us knowing about it. Of course, I've told them to give him a long leash."

"You think he's going to try something?"

"I do. I'm not sure what he was trying to prove by murdering his partner or by leaving that message on the wall of my shower, but I'm sure the two are connected."

"And you think he'd coming back here?" Illya wiped his mouth off on a towel and hung it back up.

"I've let it be known that I'm out of town tonight." Napoleon leaned over to flip down the covers. "If he does, we will be waiting for him."

"Unless we both fall asleep in the meantime." Illya piled pillows in on his side and pulled the covers over them. He then turned off the light on his side of the bed.

"I have the strongest of convictions that all will be well." Napoleon stood and did the same to his side. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see Illya moving to take up position in a chair. Napoleon nodded and headed for the living room.

With the curtains drawn, it was easy to blend into the shadows. Napoleon pulled the turtleneck's collar away from his skin and blew down onto his chest. "How you are able to wear these this year round is a mystery to me," Napoleon whispered. "I'm roasting in this."

Illya's voice came back in his ear. "You get used to them and I'm reading you fine. George knew what he was talking about."

It was around one when Napoleon heard someone at his door. "Showtime, Illya."

"I'm ready."

Napoleon stood and moved even further into the shadows just as a flashlight lit the floor of his foyer. It shone a path to the alarm pad and the soft _beep beep_ told Napoleon an ID was being punched in. The lights swung around the room, coming within a hair's breadth of his foot. Then the person walked to a desk and placed something in among the stack of paperwork Napoleon had purposefully left out. The stack was neatened and the beam moved on towards the bathroom.

"Our visitor apparently needs to heed a call of nature, he whispered.

"Understood. I'm moving into the closet." He could barely hear Illya's response. After a moment, Napoleon crept forward, moving closer.

The figure exited the bathroom and went into the bedroom. Napoleon followed, his weapon drawn.

There was a strangled cry, half muffled, and then the sound of silenced bullets being fired.

Napoleon stepped into the doorway and flicked on the lights. "Freeze!"

The figure standing by the bed froze and Napoleon nearly gasped. "Mrs. Carmichael?"

"I'm armed," she shouted, but her voice quivered.

"As am I." Illya came out of the closet. "I thought it might be you."

"But you're dead." She looked at the bed and the multiple bullet holes. Feathers still danced from their impact.

"And still kicking. I suggest you lower your weapon." There was no mercy in Illya's voice.

Napoleon spoke into his communicator. "Open Channel D. Send the clean-up squad in. We've had a shooting at my apartment."

"How did you know it was me? I was so careful."

"Washable paint. An agent wouldn't have cared and would have used whatever he or she could have gotten their hands on. A cleaning woman, mindful that she might have to clean up her mess, wouldn't be so careless."

"What I don't understand is why frame Agent Beasley? And why kill Zek?"

Instead of answering, she merely looked away. Illya chose that moment to relieve her of her weapon. "Never mind, we have experts at HQ who will get us the information we want."

There was noise in the hallway and Napoleon smiled grimly. "We're in here."

Agent Beasley entered, followed by three other Section Three agents. "Did she-?"

"She tried."

"Let's go, Gramma. I don't take kindly to people trying to frame me." They hustled the woman out of the room as Illya and Napoleon watched them leave.

"And I trusted her with my life."

"This is why I do my own housework. My advice, learn how to clean toilets, Napoleon."

Napoleon felt the sweat trickle down the side of face and a moment later, it was wiped away by a calloused palm. Napoleon grabbed the hand and kissed the roughened skin. "You're killing me, Kuryakin."

"I can think of worse ways to go." Illya retrieved his hand and flopped to Napoleon's side. "On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, I think that was a twelve."

"I'll remember that for next time." Napoleon used a corner of the sheet to wipe a pool of semen from his stomach. "Guess I'm going to have to get used to changing my own sheets now." He sighed, then settled down beside Illya. "I still can't believe Mrs. Carmichael did that."

"We did a full background on her yearly, we just neglected to do the same with her son. How were we supposed to know the man had gone to work for THRUSH? Or that Zek shot him. Once she started talking, she wouldn't stop and she loved the details. I thought Hathaway was going to vomit at one point when she was discussing everything she did to poor Zek."

"Who would have thought it?" Napoleon's hand found Illya's and rested on it.

"Revenge is a terrible beast; it takes over and consumes until there's nothing left."

"Just one thing, why did she shoot you or what she thought was you."

"Not me, you. She didn't know what side of the bed you slept on. She thought the other lump was just some poor unfortunate girl you'd brought home. No use killing her unless she woke up."

"Amazing. And the message?" Napoleon lifted Illya's hand, examining it in the light, as if trying to memorize it.

Illya smiled sadly. "It's wasn't number one; it was no one. Zek was no one. She had stripped him of everything he was and left him in a pile of trash."

"And the 'soon all ded' bit?"

"She just added that to throw people off the trail. She'd seen it in a movie once apparently. What's the sudden fascination with my hand?"

"It's just a very nice hand."

"I'm rather fond of it, thank you."

"It also made me think of something Cap said about partners. It's not love, it's something stronger."

"And?"

"And I wondered if you felt the same."

"I do. I have."

"I was also wondering with all of its many talents, if this hand also did laundry."

"Laundry, dishes and everything… wait, what are you asking me, Napoleon?"

"Well, I've never had much experience in the way of household chores and I was wondering how you felt about on-the-job training."

"I'm okay… are you asking me to move in with you, Napoleon?"

"If I did, would you say yes?"

"I would, but know this. I don't do windows."

"Do you do CEAs?" Napoleon's smile was sly now and his eyes twinkled. The night was spent, as was Napoleon's, in an ample and thoroughly satisfying display of just how well Illya managed that task.


End file.
